I am told
he makes a handsome corpse, and becomes
his coffin prodigiously.
–– Oliver Goldsmith
When
Stubby Layman read that a funeral home in New Orleans was displaying corpses outside
of caskets in seated positions, he took keen notice. That’s the way I want to be shown. Nobody gets to look down on you that
way. People been looking down at me my whole life. Can’t help it if I’m short.
I’ll be damned if they’ll look down on me at my own funeral!
Stubby
immediately called the funeral home he’d chosen to handle his remains. For
seven years, he’d battled leukemia and now his demise was very close at hand.
“Yes,
Mr. Layman. We learned about the new client presentations at our recent funeral
director’s convention. We also saw the article and read it with special
interest. We certainly can accommodate your desires. Can you tell us what
sitting position you’d prefer? Cross-legged, parallel-legged, slightly
reclining? Kneeling is also an option. Like in the prayer position. Very
touching. And what would you like to be seated on . . . that is, if you’re not
kneeling? The choices are really up to you,” said undertaker, Carl Bellowski.
“Oh
. . . I hadn’t really thought of that. Lots to think about. I sure want it to
be right. I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“Certainly.
Your last wishes are Bellowski’s first objective.”
Stubby
had heard that line a number of times since contacting the funeral home and had
quickly developed an aversion to it. They
sound like a damn used car dealership, he thought, hanging the phone up.
* * *
For
the next couple of days, Stubby considered a variety of both positions and
venues. His first idea was to appear in full monarch regalia in the lavish leather
recliner he’d impulsively purchased a year earlier. I’ll get some more use out of
that La-Z-Boy before it goes to the Salvation Army. It wasn’t long before
he had another idea. Get them to put me
behind the wheel in one of those tiny Smart Cars and invite people to sit next
to me in the passenger seat. If ever there was a road coffin, that’s it.
The
idea that he finally settled on came to him while he was lying in bed unable to
sleep. He’d be sitting at a folding card table playing gin rummy. For a dozen
years, Stubby participated in a weekly card game with his closest friends,
Howie, Sam, and Don. It had been the high point of his week, because living
alone as he did left him craving companionship. His job as a supply clerk for a
metal fastener company afforded him little contact with people, so getting
together with his longtime buddies was a singular pleasure.
The
only thing that occasionally tarnished his enjoyment at the get-togethers was
the ribbing he got because of rarely having a winning hand. He figured it was a
small price to pay for the joy he derived from the gathering. So he took the
taunting in seeming stride, concealing the mild annoyance it caused him.
“Hey,
it’s my strategy to let you guys win, and it’s working perfectly.”
When
he thought about the Saturday night conclaves, he knew that being displayed at
a card table was the perfect way to bid his friends farewell. Maybe I can embellish the scene, he
snickered, amused by yet another idea.
“I
believe we can do that, Mr. Layman. It’ll take some thought, but as you know our
client’s last wishes are Bellowski’s first objective.”
“I
do. I do. Thank you. I’ll come by next week to help you work it out, Mr.
Bellowski,” said Stubby, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
* * *
Stubby
spent the last week of his life at a hospice, and when he passed, his body was
delivered to Bellowski’s to sit in state. As they had planned, he was placed at
a table and playing cards were put in his hands. When the small group of
attendees arrived for the wake, they were seated before a black velvet curtain
behind which their deceased friend waited.
Howie,
Sam, and Don sat together in the front row and wondered about the unusual
setup. They had expected to view their friend in the customary fashion.
“Maybe
the coffin’s behind the curtain,” said Don.
“Never
seen it done like this,” observed Howie.
“I
won’t have what’s behind curtain number
one,” joked Sam, causing his comrades to chuckle.
They
squelched their inappropriate mirth when Mr. Bellowski appeared.
“Welcome,
ladies and gentleman. Thank you for coming to pay your respects to the dearly
departed. Mr. Layman has chosen a novel way to exit the world. As you may or
more than likely may not know,
there’s a new trend in the presentation of the deceased, and Mr. Layman has
chosen to bid you goodbye in a somewhat unconventional fashion. Nonetheless, it
is the way he wished to say farewell. Here at Bellowski’s a clients last wishes are our first objective.”
With
that, the funeral director pulled the curtain aside to reveal Stubby at the
card table. The mourners gasped at the first sight of the seated cadaver.
“Jesus,
you see what he’s doing?” gulped Howie.
Just
as the attendees were trying to come to terms with the scene before them,
Stubby’s right arm bolted upward, causing them to gasp again. But what followed
caused everyone, including Stubby’s former Saturday night card game chums, to
leap from their chairs and dash for the exit.
“Rummy!”
shouted the prerecorded voice of Stubby Layman. “I win, you bastards!”
Afterwards,
when Carl Bellowski placed Stubby into his casket, he was certain his client’s expression
had changed from what he had sculpted. It was never his technique to shape a
cadaver’s lips into a broad grin.
#
Michael C. Keith teaches
college and writes fiction. www.michaelckeith.com
